Death of a Stoic
by razzamatazz73
Summary: Dawson gets worried when Basil develops a somewhat morbid attitude, only to realize that his friend is hiding a few details about their latest case- specifically that the situation involves their old friend Olivia Flaversham. When it turns out that the case is more dangerous than Basil's been letting on, Dawson wonders what else isn't Basil telling him? Editing as of 2013.
1. Reluctant Celebration

**Author's notes: Ah, the beginning of another story. There are times when I wonder why the heck I post new fics, when I know that I'll soon be freaking out about my lack of updates. **

**My first GMD fic, be kind… **

I've always said that time can change a person, but I don't think I really ever believed that. Oh sure, Basil and I used to discuss whether people we trusted and knew would someday do something illegal and shock us all. I remember one specific conversation about the owner of the pastry shop down the street.

"Honestly, Dawson," my friend said between puffs on his pipe, "if the man wanted to, he could poison us all just by polluting the glazes he puts over his pastries! Think how many innocent Londoners stop by his shop daily for a treat. The man has power, even if he doesn't realize it."

I neglected to mention that I could recall several times when Basil himself would sprint to the doors, pointing out all of the different pastries like a child. Of course, this was confidential- if Mrs. Judson were to find out, she'd have a fit. Not that Basil ever told me not to tell her- it was just something I knew without speaking.

The master of disguise, however good of an actor he is, has a personality that dwarfs the weak ones of every person I've ever known. I'm honored to be his trusted friend and associate, and I think he would say himself that I know him better than anyone else.

At the same time, he's the most unpredictable person when it comes to his cases, and mood swings. I recall a client who once said (while Basil was preoccupied with one of his rants and not listening) that he was worse than a woman nine months pregnant. I found this comment rather hilarious, and at dinner that night I found myself laughing while Basil went over evidence on the case we were on.

"My goodness, old man," he said. Although he appeared to be calm and stoic, his eyes searched through puzzled and annoyed emotions to find the one they were looking for. "What ever has gotten in to you?"

I laughed some more, shaking my head, and finally told the fellow what I found so amusing. Expecting my laughter to be stifled at once with angry retaliation, I was shocked to see Basil himself throw his head back and laugh.

Unpredictable, intelligent, and very much his own person, Basil hadn't changed a bit in the eight years I had worked with him. He had been aging well, and he looked hardly a day older than when I met him, during the Flaversham case.

I didn't think I had changed all that much either, except maybe for a tiny increase in weight (I blamed Mrs. Judson's crumpets).

No, the experiences around me didn't show that time could change a person all that much, but I was wrong as I soon discovered. It was August 20, 1905, and after years of protest, Basil was finally allowing me to do something special to celebrate his birthday. He always was picky about the way holidays and special occasions were celebrated- the same way every time, unless he was on a case. The first year I lived on Baker Street, I didn't even know it was Basil's birthday until Mrs. Judson surprised him with a cake. He was positively annoyed when Mrs. Judson and I (after she nudged me with her elbow) started to sing.

I was shocked to find out he was only twenty-six; for he seemed much older most of the time. Then there were times when he definitely did seem that age, such as when he grinned while peddling the remnant of Ratigan's dirigible, or those times when he literally dragged me to the pastry shop. Other times, he seemed several years over- while in a depression, wearing the solemn expression on his face while playing the violin, or while he was muttering to himself about this principle or that rule of science or math, when his intelligence truly showed.

Eight years later, it was now his thirty-fourth birthday. That morning at breakfast (looking back, it seems that I can connect most conversations with Basil with a meal, snack, or some type of food), he had already been up and was reading the paper at the table. I yawned and stretched, still half-asleep.

"Don't say a word about it, Dawson!" he snapped.

Now I was awake. It took me a moment to figure out what he meant, but that was only because of my weary state.

"Now, see here, Basil- I don't understand why you always make such a fuss. Every year I tell you the same thing; just let-"

"-you take me out for dinner, or do something to acknowledge it. No! The world does not stop because it is Basil of Baker Street's birthday!" he exclaimed, without taking his eyes off the newspaper.

I've learned that there are some things that you shouldn't say while replying to Basil. For example, I was thinking about my last birthday the previous December, when I had woken up to find a wrapped book of poems and that Basil had gone off on a case without me. He didn't come back until late that night; I think his disappearing every year was to give me a break.

"Just supper, nothing else. You know, Basil, even the most famous detective in the world needs a break now and then."

He finally looked up. "You aren't going to stop until I say 'yes', are you-"

"I insist!" Mrs. Judson cut in happily as she placed my breakfast in front of me. "I refuse to cook supper this evening. Refuse."

"No, I'm not," I said with a chuckle, ignoring Mrs. Judson.

He sighed. "Oh, fine then, Dawson."

"Happy birthday, Basil."

"Oh, do shut up, old man…"

I made sure not to make a big deal out of it; I made reservations at a small restaurant nearby, so Basil could get back to Baker Street easily if there was a case (and knowing him, I knew he'd come up with some excuse to make a timely exit).

I left a little bit early; Basil remarked that he had to finish an experiment on something first before he could come to dinner, and that he wouldn't be long. Sitting down at a table, I sighed. I knew he'd have an excuse, but I thought it would be after we had eaten, or in the middle of supper.

Fortunately, my fears were for nothing, for as soon as I recognized the Deerstalker, I knew that Basil had in deed shown up for his birthday supper. As he sat across from me, he rung took off his hat, squeezing the water out of it.

"Rather nasty storm. If it had not started to rain, you might not have seen me at all. I just happened to be in front of the restaurant when it-"

I rolled my eyes.

"Dawson, you didn't _really_ think I'd abandon you?"

I shrugged. But he was drenched; it had started to rain long before he was in front of the restaurant.

"Dawson?"

"I had my doubts, Basil, but you proved me wrong, as you always do."

Basil was about to reply to this comment when we were interrupted by a seemingly familiar female voice coming from the kitchen behind us.

"Please, don't make me wait on _that_ table, sir. It's a matter of great importance. I _simply_ cannot."

"Then you _simply_ are not employed here anymore!" the manager of the restaurant replied. The restaurant was short on employees, so he was forced to seat tables.

"You must understand sir, I-"

"-will wait on that table, or this is your last night working here! Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Basil and I observed as a waitress, clad in a white blouse and a long navy skirt (the typical uniform) pushed open the swinging doors leading to the kitchen.

Although the uniform did not reveal her identity, her face did. I let out a small gasp as I realized who this argumentative waitress was.

Sighing, Olivia Flaversham picked up some menus and awkwardly made her way to our table.

**Author's notes: Wow, I finished that in one sitting. I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up. Why doesn't Olivia want to see Dr. Dawson and Basil?**

**I know, and you don't!**

**Review, please, to make me eager to write more…**


	2. Beginnings of Irony

**Author's notes: These first few chapters have lots of dialogue, and it really bugs me. This is a really slow-moving chapter. I promise there will be some action in the next chapter. Just bear with me…**

"Olivia, dear, it's so nice to see you!" I greeted her. I chose to ignore the dispute I had just witnessed.

She grinned. "It's nice to see you too, Dr. Dawson!" She turned to Basil, and I immediately saw her eager grin turn to a foreign shy smile. "A-and y-you too, Mr. Basil. Now, what can I do for you two tonight?"

We ordered, and she scurried away to the kitchen without anything more than a nod. Basil stared at the kitchen doors.

"My goodness, Basil, what's Olivia doing as a waitress in this part of London?" I inquired. "My, how she's grown. She must be-"

"-sixteen, Dawson," he muttered, not taking his eyes off the doors. "Sixteen. She's been in some advanced classes this side of London for the past two years now, and she's been working here to help pay for them."

I was shocked. "Two years? Why, how could you possibly deduce that, Basil?" He was still gazing at the kitchen doors. "Basil, are you-"

"Shush, Dawson!" he hissed as Olivia returned with our drinks. "Thank you, Miss-"

"Flaversham, Mr. Basil, Miss Flaversham." And with a wink at me, she was off once more.

Basil chuckled. "Hiram contacted me before she arrived." He took a sip of his drink. "I'm to 'keep an eye out for her and make sure that she doesn't get into any trouble.' From that little scuffle we saw, I think she's quite aware of that."

I frowned. "And how are you 'keeping an eye out for her', Basil? I've not seen you leave Baker Street to call upon her, and-"

"True, Dawson, this is the first time I've actually seen her since she began taking classes. But I have an acquaintance who teaches at her school, and he sends me regular progress and behavior reports once a semester."

"And?"

"Brilliant for a young woman, very intelligent. Only one behavioral problem her third week there."

I felt my eyes get wide, and Basil had an amused look on her face. "Whatever did the girl do? She was always a well behaved child, and…" I trailed off.

"Something with sneaking out to go to the post office; nothing of much importance."

We moved on to the topic of the case we were currently working on; Basil was thoroughly bored by it, and greatly wished for it to end.

The rest of the evening went without interruption, save for a goodbye hug from Olivia. She gave me a hearty embrace, and then stuck out her hand for Basil to shake.

"Really, Miss-"

"Flaversham," she said with a tiny smirk.

"There's no need to be so distant," Basil smiled. I could clearly see there was a complete swap in their relationship. Eight years before, he was utterly inept with children and she was a giggling little girl who wanted someone to look up to. Now, he treated her with respect and used nothing but polite gestures of kindness, and she awkwardly responded with her silence.

Time can change a person.

It was a stiff embrace, but one nonetheless.

"Stop by Baker Street anytime, Olivia," I told her.

"Please," Basil added kindly.

We exited the restaurant, and I led him to the pastry shop.

He grimaced. "I thought I said no cake, you conniving old man!"

"Nonsense," I retorted with a flourish, "you said nothing but dinner. Dessert is part of dinner."

Basil sighed and pushed the door open. "Must you aggravate me so, Dawson? Fine, you win. But next year, I refuse to exit the flat on my birthday!"

"Unless there is a case," I muttered as the bells tinkled.

"Correct, Dawson. Unless there is a case, or I am deceased."

"Basil!" I exclaimed.

I went up to the counter and paid for two slices of an extremely moist yellow cake (I wasn't going to overdo it) and returned to the glass table where Basil was already sitting with his coat and hat off. I handed him his cake and a fork.

"Now where do come from talking like that?" I demanded, for although Basil often spoke in metaphors, puzzled nearly everyone he came in contact with, and was easily depressed, it was unlike him to talk about himself in such a way.

Basil apparently liked my choice of cake, for he had taken a bit more than he could comfortably chew quickly. After a moment of chewing in silence and a slight, embarrassed chuckle, he responded. "Well now, no one knows better than you, Dawson, that my line of work isn't exactly the safest."

He was correct. In the eight years since we first met, my friend had been injured several times. Nothing that kept him bedridden for more than a fortnight, but it was still a distressing situation that I preferred to avoid like the plague.

"But you mustn't talk like that, Basil. I am much older than you, and I assure you that I will go first."

He didn't respond right away, but his reply was uneasy. "Dawson, I…" He stopped speaking. "I cannot say that you are correct. I just…"

It was times like this that I was I was truly frightened of Basil's intellect. To hear him talk like that was infuriating and startling, just because I had seen him inflicted with so many wounds and recover so many times. "Let us get off this depressing subject, shall we?"

He gave a weak nod, and I wished I knew what was going through his head at that exact moment.

The conversation turned back to Olivia. "Why do you think she hasn't visited us? Do you see any reason for her not to come see her old friends?"

He shrugged. "That is a question for you to ask Miss Olivia, not me."

I could see that our discussion about death turned the lighthearted mood of the evening into a dark cloud of depression. I think he was having a bit of a staring problem, for he was gazing at his uneaten cake. "You still can't remember her last name, can you, Basil?"

He snorted, and gave a brief nod. "I'm afraid you know me very well, old friend."

I suppressed a sarcastic chuckle, for it seemed Basil's comment followed the one conversation in years that I seriously doubted my ability to analyze my friend.

If I didn't understand Basil, then who did?

**Author's notes: I wrote that chapter twice, and still didn't like it. I think this version is a bit better, but you never know… Thanks, everyone, for the positive feedback so far. Please keep reading and reviewing!**


	3. Autumn

**Author's notes: Sorry for the long wait; I have a lot of pre-school preparations (such as band camp, Honors packets, and reading books that I put off) that I'm currently taking care of. That, and after the first chapter of every story, I mentally come up with a goal number of reviews per chapter. For this story it is five; although I'm not saying I won't post a new chapter if I get less than that. I just like feedback.**

**By the way, I got bored and decided to title all of the chapters.**

**Thank you for the wonderful reviews, everyone!**

**And on to the story. This is an EXTREMELY short chapter because I felt bad about not writing in a while and I didn't have a lot of time to write. **

Irony is one of my favorite topics to discuss. Back in my Afghanistan days, I was known to arbitrarily break into a debate with one of my co-workers about a certain book passed around the tent during our (rare, but useful) downtime. Since then, I'd annoyed Basil to no end with the endless wanderings of my mind, and there were several times when the poor chap had to lightly smack me in the head to get my attention.

The particular irony of Olivia's sudden entrance, Basil's retort about asking about her lack of visiting, and his sudden melancholy nature was excessively frustrating to me, and it seemed as if I was having mental conniptions every time I thought about it.

In the weeks after Basil's birthday, summer turned to fall and the weather swiftly began to get cooler. I found that I did not miss the scorching conditions of summer, and welcomed autumn with open arms. My roommate, on the other hand, was extremely bitter about the change in seasons. Once again, I chose not to remind Basil that only weeks ago he complained of the summer heat. I also could have told him that a lighter jacket might be more appropriate for milder weather, but I knew when to hold my tongue.

There were more and more of these irritating times, I found. Basil did not like change a bit. An acidic gloom descended upon Baker Street, and it was not uncommon for an entire day go by without anyone saying anything. There was no lapse in cases, yet it seemed as if out of the blue I had more free time.

And, apparently, this was true for Basil. I was concerned for my friend, for it seemed as if he was becoming obsessed with the idea of death. I constantly found him in his leather chair smoking a pipe and reading books on the morbid topic such as _Life After Death_, _The Conclusion of a Life_, _Romeo and Juliet_, and other melancholic books, although _Romeo and Juliet_ made me chuckle a bit, for a Shakespearian tragedy with romance as it's dominant theme did _not_ seem like a book I ever pictured Basil reading. I tried to ignore the occasional sniffle he emitted towards the end of the play, but I did see him pause and give me a particularly nasty glare during one of the moments when I couldn't contain my thoughts from escaping onto my face.

One day in early-October, I was surprised to feel a feather-light tap on my shoulder while I was helping Mrs. Judson clear the dishes from breakfast. I turned around to see Basil holding a piece of paper.

"Dawson," he said, he voice seemingly hoarse from not being used as often as it usually was, "I want you to wire this message immediately."

And as quickly as he said it, he was off to read another depressing novel or morbid research book.

Mrs. Judson scooped up the bowls in my arms. "I'll finish the dishes, dearie; poor Mr. Basil hasn't been himself lately and you should do what he asks right away."

I looked at the note in my hand. Basil's half-tidy, half scrawled handwriting had taken me quite some time to decipher years before, but I could now read it without much trouble. It was very short.

_To Miss Olivia Flaversham:_

_That was a sincere invitation, you know._

_-Basil_

I was processing the name of the recipient for a moment, half shocked because it was for Olivia, and half amused because I knew that Basil obviously had copied her last name from one of the girl's progress reports.

As I left to wire Miss Flaversham, I added a note at the bottom.

_Miss Flaversham:_

_Please visit Baker Street as soon as you have free time. I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you, and it is essential that I speak with you soon._

_-Dr. Dawson_

I wired the message. Yes, I had a feeling that Olivia Flaversham was somehow connected to Basil's current state. Why was she so hesitant to come see us? Why was she working at the restaurant (which I had consciously not been to since, even though something told be that I should)? And why was her current relationship with Basil so awkward?

I had to speak to her to find out, and soon, for Basil's current obsession was not healthy for many reasons, one of which being that I was deathly afraid that he'd kick me out of Baker Street if I let my face slip one more time into a smirk while he was reading romantic tragedies.

That almost worried me more than his fascination with death.

**Author's notes: Yes, it's very short. It really bugs be that every time I type "Baker Street", Word tries to get me to display a map of London. **

**Please keep reading and reviewing!!!**


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